Wolfmoon
by Xirysa
Summary: FE7, during the year in Caelin and in the spirit of Halloween: Kent notices that Lady Lyndis hasn't been feeling well as of late.


_To fill the world with 100% pure unadulterated crap—for the __**KentLyn Circle**__ and anyone else who has a soft spot for this pairing._

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Wolfmoon

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"Winter is fast approaching," she told him one day. "I can feel it, here." She placed her hand over her heart, did not look at him but instead continued to stare out onto the flat lands beyond the castle walls.

He nodded mutely in agreement. "The seasons here are wetter than what you were used to on the plains, milady, It will take some getting used to."

"You say that as if I will never return to Sacae."

Simple and to the point—it was one of the many things Kent admired about his lady liege, though many of the courtiers, he knew, would say otherwise. He bowed. "My apologies, Lady Lyndis," he said. "I spoke too presumptively."

She shook her head and turned back to the window. "It is alright," she told him. She was silent for another moment. "Tomorrow is the full moon, yes?"

Something about her, he noticed, seemed distracted by something, though he could not say exactly what; he could only speculate. "I believe so, milady," he said, "though I could confirm it with others if you would like."

"There is no need, Kent. I know the moon." Again she turned to him, but this time a smile lifted the corners of her mouth in a small curve. "May I tell you a story, Kent?" she asked.

He looked at her with what he hoped was an expression of polite curiosity. "A story, Lady Lyndis?"

"You've heard the legends, haven't you? Of how my people are the descendents of wolves? They say that the shamans of the old times were able take their form, and that the Horseman herself was raised by a great she-wolf." She crossed her arms over her chest. "For millennia, the plainsfolk have walked alongside the wolf. And the wolves themselves travel with the moon." She turned back to the window, shook her head after a few moments of silence. "I'm sorry, Kent," she said. "I was distracted—I've forgotten what I wanted to tell you. But perhaps you should go—I'm afraid I've taken up far too much of your time."

He stayed there for a few moments longer, unsure if she would tell him something else or not. She only continued to stare out the window, and with a bow and a murmur of farewell, he took his leave of her.

It was not until the following morning that he saw her again, looking out the same window as if she had not moved from the spot the evening before. Her face was pale and drawn, and yet her eyes fairly glowed with some inner flame. He began to approach her, but before he had traveled even half the distance separating them she turned her face towards him and smiled.

"Good morning, Kent," she said. Her voice was rough and gravelly; she cleared her throat and smiled at him.

He walked the remaining distance between them briskly until he was just behind her, bowing quickly before he spoke. "Forgive me if I seem too forward, milady, but did you not sleep last night? You seem exhausted."

She shrugged and turned back to the window. "I tried, but found that I could not—so I watched the moon instead. And in spite of that, I feel very much awake." She clasped her hands together behind her back. "After the Taliver came, I was alone on the plains for half a year. The moon was my only companion during those long months."

"Lady Lyndis…"

"I know you find it odd, thinking of the moon as a person. But the stories of my people tell that the moon is the son of Mother Earth and Father Sky, and the lover of Hanon herself. Tonight, the last full moon before winter, is what they call the 'Wolfmoon', because they say you can see the form of a howling wolf's head on its surface." She was quiet for a moment. "They say that this is the night we… are most like our ancestors."

He took a breath and moved as close to his lady liege as he dared. "I do not find it strange, milady," he said, "only admirable that you remain so faithful to your heritage."

She turned and smiled at him. "Thank you, Kent," she said, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth as she fought back a yawn.

He smiled, despite himself. "May I escort you to your chambers, milady? It seems that your body is protesting your lack of sleep."

"It's alright," she said. "You have your duties to attend to, and I have my own. It's my own fault for staying up the entire night." She squinted at the sunlight streaming in through the window. "Perhaps I will see you at lunch? Grandfather wanted to hear from you and Sain about the knights and their training, I believe."

"But of course, milady," he said, bowing deeply as she smiled at him and turned to walk away.

As the day went on, he only managed to catch fleeting glimpses of his lady, though she always gifted him with a smile or a soft murmur of recognition when she caught his gaze. He could not help but notice, with a gnawing uncertainty in the pit of his stomach, how quickly she seemed to deteriorate.

When they convened for lunch, she hardly seemed to eat anything, and though she took a keen interest in Caelin's military she seemed lethargic and worn out throughout the entire presentation he and Sain gave on the soldiers' training.

He was unable to meet her alone until later that evening at sunset, when she declared that she would take dinner alone in her chambers. He followed the servant carrying the tray laden with hot bread and fresh soup until they reached her chambers, took the tray from the boy and dismissed him.

"I bring sustenance, milady," he said when she opened the door to her chambers. He blinked. "Lady Lyndis, are you alright?"

She seemed to be out of breath, as if she had just exerted herself, but there was no other physical evidence that suggested she had done so. "Thank you, Kent," she managed to pant. "I am fine—simply my body retaliating against my treatment of it the other night. Remind me to never stay up all night ever again." She gave a weak bark of laughter and shut the door quickly, leaving him alone in the empty hallway.

The dull _thud_ of the door reverberated through the stone hallway. He blinked again, raised a hand to knock at the heavy wood doorframe again before thinking better of it. She was right; a night of standing up to look to the heavens could put as much strain on the body as half a day on the battlefield. He let his hand fall, turned and walked; he did not stop until he reached his room in the soldiers' quarters.

It was a small room, with spartan furnishings: a desk near a window that faced the fields behind the castle and the village beyond, a bed pushed alongside one wall with a trunk at the foot of it and a chest of drawers against the opposite wall. He had no need for anything else, and so the bareness of the room did not bother him. He closed the door behind him and walked toward the bed, removed his armor and set it down gently on the mattress before turning to his desk.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly, walked to the desk and lit the wick of the large candle resting there. It would be a long night, he knew, of parchment and ink and the monotony that accompanied it. He sat down, reached for the inkwell and quill, and began to work.

The candle was half its original height when he heard a sharp, frantic rapping at his door. "Come in," he said without lifting his eyes from the document before him, "the door is unlocked."

"Kent!" Wil's voice was disconcertingly bright in the stillness of the night. "Kent, you have to see this!"

He set down his quill, turned around in his seat to face the archer. "Calm down, Wil—what is it?"

Wil shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Less than ten minutes later he found himself kneeling in the cold night air with Wil at his side, examining a strange set of tracks at the edge of the castle grounds.

"It's a dog or wolf of some sort," Wil said. "Sain and I both saw it—he figured they could probably catch it faster on horseback, before it hurt anybody, and so he went after the beast with some of the captains. I didn't know what else to do except to find you."

Kent shook his head. "That's impossible, Wil; if it _were_ a wolf, it would have to be—"

"—as big as a full grown man? It is." Wil fingered the strap of his quiver nervously. "When we first saw it, it almost attacked Sain and me, and it was so close I could see each individual hair on its hide." He shivered. "That's one set of fangs I'd rather not see again any time soon."

"Did you see which way it went?"

Wil nodded. "It headed out through the fields and towards town; Sain headed out as soon as he could to make sure it didn't hurt anyone."

Kent stood up and began to walk towards the stables, Wil following closely behind. "This beast could be a man-hunter, Wil. Sain knows what he's doing, but someone needs to protect the village while he and his men search for it. Get your archery unit and meet me at the training fields—I'll be there shortly with a unit of mounted soldiers."

Wil did as he was told, and soon after soldiers were stationed around the village, an archer and a horseman to each post. Kent and Wil took up position near the most desolate entrance to the town, and abandoned quarry whose stones had been used to build Castle Caelin, the thought being that should the beast choose to enter it would pick the least populated path possible.

For several hours they stood there; a scout would arrive once in a while to check up on them, and a few times Sain appeared to report quickly to Kent. Save for these brief meetings nothing out of the ordinary occurred, and a few hours before dawn Kent found himself staring at the full, bright orb of the moon. The shadows on its surface really _did_ look distinctly lupine, muzzle pointed heavenwards and ears pressed flat against the skull.

As if on cue, the mournful howl of a wolf echoed through the night. Twin glints of light in the distance caught Kent's attention as he attempted to calm his startled gelding.

"It's coming, Wil," he said. "Keep your eye on it."

Wil nodded, climbed to the top of a rocky ledge that jutted out over a dried creekbed below, nocked an arrow and stood, poised and ready. "I've got it, Kent," he said. "Should I kill it?"

He shook his head. "Scare it off if you can, but don't injure it if you can help it—if it's hurt and unable to hunt wild game, then it will certainly become a man-hunter. If there's no other choice, then yes."

The younger man opened his mouth to respond, but instead yelled in agony as a large dark mass leapt at him and sunk massive white fangs into his leg.

"Wil!" Kent tugged at the reins, guided the gelding towards the wolf. Wil had been right—the creature was massive, its fur dark and its eyes the same midnight hue as the skies above. It relinquished its hold on the archer's leg and turned to Kent, snarling as blood matted the fur of its maw and stained its teeth crimson. It crouched, growling deep within its throat, then launched itself at Kent.

He was ready, his sword already of its sheath and arcing through the night sky; the beast yelped as the blade connected with its shoulder, bit deep into the skin and then wrenched free. It staggered back, whimpers audible through the constant snarling as its fur gleamed wetly in the moonlight. It continued to watch Kent, and for a moment he thought he saw a glimmer of _understanding_ in its blue-black gaze.

A gasp, a moan of pain. "K-kent!" Wil's breathing was labored, hands gripping the wound tightly in an effort to stem the flow of blood; his bow lay forgotten in the creekbed below.

Kent turned to face the wounded man. "I'm coming Wil." He looked back to where the wolf stood, blinked in disbelief when he saw that the beast was gone, the only proof of its existence a small spattering of blood on the cold, dry earth below. He blinked again. "I'm coming…"

Somehow, Kent managed to get Wil astride the gelding, and together they reached the castle by dawn. The wound, it turned out, though deep hadn't been serious at all: no bones and been broken, and the fangs of the great beast had missed a major blood vessel by nothing more than a hair's breadth—had it been severed, Wil surely would have died. As it were, the archer was only confined to bedrest until the wound had healed enough to meet the healers' approval.

After Wil's survival had been confirmed, Kent found himself leaving the infirmary, his feet taking the familiar route to Lady Lyndis' private chambers. When he arrived he found the door unlocked, and he knocked tentatively at the heavy wood. "Milady?" he asked.

"You may enter," she said. Her voice was raspy and hoarse again, and when Kent entered the room he could see why; she looked dreadful. The shadows beneath her eyes were deeper and more pronounced, and she looked older and more tired than he had ever seen her. She was sitting on her bed wearing nothing more than a deep red robe over her nightgown; he quickly averted his gaze before speaking.

"Lady Lyndis," he said, bowing deeply to avoid meeting her eye, "allow me to call a healer. Please, this is not healthy."

She shook her head, pulled her robe about her tighter. "I'll be fine tomorrow—it's nothing but a simple cold."

Kent shook his head. "Forgive my boldness, milady, but if it were only a cold you would not seem so frail."

"Frail?" She laughed weakly and looked at Kent. "If I felt frail, Kent, I assure you: it would be obvious. Though if you insist on calling a healer, perhaps it would be for the better." She gestured with one hand at her shoulder, which seemed to hang limply at her side. "I snagged my sleeve on a loose nail this morning, and it managed to give me a nasty cut on my shoulder. It isn't debilitating, but the pain is starting to become a bit annoying."

He bowed again. "Of course, milady." He straightened and turned to leave the room.

"Oh, and be sure to tell Wil I wish him a speedy recovery, Kent!" she called to him as he closed the door; the heavy wood slammed with a chilling sense of finality he could not identify, and as he set off down the corridor Kent thought he heard the echo of wolf's howl coming from Lady Lyndis' chambers.

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**Xirysa Says:** Because I love Halloween, even if this was a few days late.


End file.
